


Of Wheels and Wolves

by Asukachan07



Series: GoT Works [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Badass Arya, Badass Sansa Stark, Breaking the Wheel, Fix-It, Gen, POV Jon Snow, POV Tyrion Lannister, Season 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 22:23:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19094266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asukachan07/pseuds/Asukachan07
Summary: Tyrion seizes one last chance to fulfill his dream, and to honor Daenerys' ;Jon still knows nothing.





	Of Wheels and Wolves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thimbleful](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thimbleful/gifts).



> The whole season was a mess, but I just couldn't deal with that gathering at the Dragon Pit in s8 e6. This is how I think it should have gone.
> 
> Take a shot every time you see " - cousin -" XD
> 
> This is also my humble gift to the Queen of Jonsa fics, the amazing thimbleful.
> 
> Unbeta'd, apologies for any annoying mistake.

After months of being held prisoner by the Unsullied, plagued by hunger (but not starvation), solitude and sobriety, regret and grief, you’d think that Tyrion Lannister would feel grateful to stand at his trial, the surviving lords and ladies of Westeros all present to witness his sentence. 

Yet, the first thought out of Tyrion’s mind as he scanned the people sitting in the shade of the tent erected over the Dragon Pit was  _ I could have been sitting there myself _ .

He was the legitimate Lord of Casterly Rock, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands and Warden of the West. Since Jaime had joined the Kingsguard, it had been Tyrion’s dream to sit at a gathering with other leaders of Westeros to discuss matters of the crown.

Well, this day  _ he _ was part of the matter to be discussed. Had any Hand of the king of Westeros ever been tried for treason? Not to his knowledge. For better or worse - he definitely couldn’t have done worse - his name would be remembered throughout the seven kingdoms, which was more than he had expected a few days ago - an anonymous death by Grey Worm’s favorite dagger.

So, indeed, he should feel more grateful for this turn of events. He did not.

“Where is Jon?” Lady Sansa asked.

Ah, Lady Stark, fierce as ever. Tyrion lifted his head to feast his eyes on his former lady wife.

(Yes he had lowered his head in shame, how could he not? He looked filthy and pitiful, the very image he’d tried his hardest to never let allies and foes alike catch him portraying. And those chains? Why did people always feel the need to bind him?)

There was not much to feast on, for the Lady of Winterfell was covered from head to toe, a Stark difference (ha!) to how she used to dress in King’s Landing when she had been Cersei and Joffrey’s hostage. Tyrion supposed that the lingering of mild winter was to blame for the general state of dress.

Upon further inspection, Sansa’s choice of outfit was intriguing. While her dress seemed to be made of black leather from afar, it was actually made from the hide of some deep blue reptile, the shiny scales reminiscent of the Tully trout.

Was the Stark eldest sister simply honoring her mother’s house, or denying her uncle’s authority as a representative of House Tully? Edmure had been Walder Frey’s hostage and Cersei’s unwilling puppet since his marriage to Roslin Frey. Though legitimate, he was unfit to rule over Riverrun.

“He is our prisoner,” Grey Worm helpfully reminded Lady Stark, who didn’t miss a beat before objecting to the captivity of her brother - cousin.

“So is Lord Tyrion. They were both to be brought to this gathering.”

“We will decide what we do with our prisoners,” the late Queen’s general asserted, his stance relaxed - for those who knew him. “This is our city now.”

“If you look outside the walls of your city, you’ll find thousands of Northmen who will explain to you why harming Jon Snow is not in your interests.”

Tyrion had barely a heartbeat to admire Lady Stark’s commanding though still diplomatic demeanor.

“And you will find thousands of Unsullied who believe that it is,” the eunuch soldier replied just as authoritatively.

Tyrion repressed a sigh. After all the wars the continent had bled through, how could people still make promises of more war so casually?

“Some of you may be quick to forgive, the Ironborn are not,” Yara Greyjoy jumped in, drawing Tyrion’s attention to her seat neighbor, the new Lord of House Martell, who looked bored and too warm in his sunny overcoat. Tyrion would’ve given whatever coin remained to Casterly Rock’s coffers to know his name and parentage.

“I swore to follow Daenerys Targaryen,” the Queen of the Iron Islands added.

“Swore to follow a  _ tyrant _ ,” Lady Stark argued.

Was that what his former wife had thought of him all along, as well? That he had followed a tyrant?

“She freed us from a tyrant!” Lady Greyjoy countered. “Cersei is gone because of her and Jon Snow put a knife in her heart. Let the Unsullied give him what he deserves.”

The disdain coating the only remaining queen in Westeros was not staged, and it took a second for Tyrion to remember that her brother, Theon Greyjoy, had died fighting for House Stark - led by Jon Snow at the time.

A chuckle from Sansa was not the reaction the dwarf had expected from the sister - cousin - of his fellow prisoner, yet there he was, enjoying the radiance of Lady Stark smiling down knowingly at her opponent.

“Cersei never concerned herself with the Iron Islands,” the current Warden of the North pointed out once her face returned to a more serious expression. “The only tyrant oppressing you was your own uncle Euron Greyjoy, and it wasn’t Daenerys Targaryen who freed you from him.”

Indeed, until Theon and a handful of Ironborn had arrived to Winterfell a fortnight before the Battle of the Long Night, Tyrion had quite considered Yara dead and the Iron Fleet a fallen pawn on Daenerys’ warboard. The Dragon Queen had not bothered sending a party to rescue her ally.

“It was Theon who rescued you, before you  _ fled _ to your Iron Island to wait out the war,” Lady Sansa added, contempt slipping in her voice before she got it back under control as she straightened in her seat and looked down at the leader of the Ironborn. “Yet here you are making claims of swearing to  _ follow _ Daenerys Targaryen.”

Yara Greyjoy stared at Lady Stark with wide eyes, shock clear in her eyes.

Tyrion glanced around the tent, and noticed with pride that the other leaders of Westeros were just as surprised by the boldness of Ned Stark’s daughter. 

“Jon Snow still betrayed his queen, he must be executed for his treasonous act,” the Ironborn Queen insisted through gritted teeth.

“Say another word about killing my brother and I’ll cut your throat,” Arya Stark promised, sending the tent into a small frenzy.

“Friends, please!” Davos Seaworth pleaded as he stood up.

Tyrion was curious as to what Jon Snow’s former hand himself had to say about this situation.

“We’ve been cutting each other’s throat for long enough,” the man justly reminded his audience before locking eyes with Grey Worm. “Torgo Nudho. Am I saying that properly?”

From hearing Daenerys and Missandei call that name many times, Tyrion could tell that despite the former smuggler’s efforts the pronunciation was quite off. Grey Worm’s stoic silent confirmed his suspicions.

“If it weren't for you and your men, we would've lost the war with the dead,” Seaworth claimed. “This country owes you a debt it can never repay, but let us try.”

“ _ I _ killed the Night King,” the youngest Stark sister pointed as she tilted her head toward the older man with a raised eyebrow. “I will gladly accept my brother’s freedom as repayment.”

Judging by the startled look of the low-born knight, Tyrion could tell that Ser Davos had not thoroughly thought through his diplomatic attempt at a peaceful negotiation.

“No!” the leader of the Unsullied shouted, his hands dropping from behind his back to form clenched fists at his sides. “Jon Snow must pay for killing the queen! He’s a traitor!”

“Jon Snow has been fighting for the realm of men since he went to the wall, he’s no traitor!” Lady Stark countered just as loudly while retaining much of her regality.

“His latest act clearly contradict your claim, niece,” Edmure Tully argued with a condescending smile, as if the fool truly thought he could teach a lesson of semantics to Sansa Stark, who had spent years in the company of  _ Petyr Baelish _ .

If looks could kill, the newly restored Lord of Riverrun would be dead with no chance of the Night King reviving him. He squirmed under the gaze of his sister’s eldest surviving child.

“He killed Daenerys Targaryen, who saved the realm from the Night King  _ and _ Cersei Lannister,” Tully added as if to prove his point.

Tyrion could tell that Sansa debated ignoring her uncle, but the expectant looks from the rest of the lords and ladies of Westeros compelled her to acknowledge his words.

“The little one just said that she’s the one who killed the Night King,” the Martell boy deadpanned as he pointed at Arya.

“Well, yes, my mistake,” Lord Tully apologized with a nod to Sansa, “but he still killed Daenerys Targaryen, to whom he bent the knee!”

“ _ After _ she burned this city to the ground, along with the innocent people living in it!” Sansa insisted, looking at Yara Greyjoy rather than her uncle. 

She then looked around the tent.

“Is that a ruler any of you, most who hadn’t bent the knee to her, would choose to remain loyal to even after her death?” she questioned.

“The queen killed those loyal to Cersei Lannister,” Grey Worm lied through gritted teeth. “And Jon Snow was one who bent the knee to Daenerys Targaryen. He is a traitor. He must pay.”

“Dovoghedis,” Arya Stark said, and for a moment Tyrion thought that Jon Snow’s youngest sister - cousin - wanted to talk to the Unsullied general privately, but then she went on and monologued in Valyrian.

After the initial surprise, the last Lannister was able to decipher a few words, and was shocked anew when he realized that the youngest Stark sister was reciting Daenerys’ speech to the Unsullied from memory.

Grey Worm was just as shocked, and maybe slightly uncomfortable - it was hard to tell, his facial expression was ever neutral when he was not fighting -  at hearing words that damned his queen as a tyrant deserving of a knife to the heart. At least, that was how she would be seen to the people of Westeros if they understood these words. Jaime got away with stabbing Aerys Targaryen in the back with the simple nickname of KingSlayer, certainly Jon Snow would be just fine.

“What!?” the Dorne representative exclaimed loudly, startling everyone who had been entranced by Arya - the way Daenerys army had been entranced by the very same words.

Arya stopped her Valyrian speech at the word ‘rinyar’ for ‘children’ - gods, Tyrion had not noted that word when he’d heard his queen speak to the Unsullied, though he had understood enough of her speech to resign from his role as her hand.

“What is it, Lord Martell?” Edmure Tully inquired.

“You’re asking me...Oh, right, you people don’t understand Valyrian,” the Martell said, his eyes still wide in shock.

“Indeed we do not,” Ser Davos confirmed as he frowned at Arya Stark. “What were you saying? I did hear Vinterfel. Is that Valyrian for Winterfell?”

“That was the speech Daenerys Targaryen gave to her army of Unsullied after she turned King’s Landing to Ashes,” Arya informed the audience. “Tyrion Lannister and Torgo Nudho were there too. You both served her, would you like to translate what your queen said that day she  _ freed _ Westeros from Cersei?”

She’d said the last words while glaring at Yara Greyjoy, who frowned angrily but remained silent.

“Jon Snow killed the queen,” was Grey Worm’s only reply.

“What did Daenerys Targaryen say?” Ser Brienne demanded as she stood to her full, impressive height, hand on the pommel of the sword gifted by Jaime.

“That her Unsullied had liberated the people of King’s Landing and would not rest their spear until they liberated people all over the world,” the Martell fellow answered instead. “From Winterfell to Dorne, from Lannisport to Qarth, from the Summer Isles…”

“The North was already freed, by Lady Stark and Jon Snow,” Lord Royce interrupted. “With the assistance of the Knights of the Vale.”

“Clearly that Daenerys Targaryen was as mad as her father,” the Lord from Dorne commented with a scoff.

_ Please, no _ , Tyrion thought just as Grey Worm lifted his arm, and the dwarf turned at the waist to see a dozen of guards lining the outskirts of the Dragon Pit march toward the tent.

“We meant no disrespect!” Ser Davos pleaded to the Unsullied leader as his men surrounded the platform. “But it is our right to know what the queen we had chosen to follow meant to do once on the throne.”

“It does not matter since she is dead now,” Torgo Nudho replied, fixing a furious glare at Arya Stark.

“Valar Morghulis,” the young lady taunted.

“Yes, the man Jon Snow  _ must _ die!” the Unsullied leader declared and was about to turn around when Sansa Stark shot to her feet.

“Jon Snow, born Aegon Targaryen to Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, is the legitimate heir to the Iron Throne and the chosen king in the North, and will not have his fate decided by a former slave from across the Narrow Sea!” the Lady of Winterfell objected solemnly.

Silence descended under the tent, and for a moment Tyrion ignored the very real threat posed by the Unsullied around the leaders of Westeros.

“The rumors were true?” Lord Royce asked, outraged.

“There are no rumors, my lords and ladies,” Samwell Tarly assured with a soft shake of his head, “I have the Archmaester’s records of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark’s marriage…”

“That only proves that those two were married,” Lord Tully argued, “not that Eddard Stark’s bastard was actually his legitimate nephew and heir to the throne.”

“You didn’t see him ride that dragon,” Royce countered. “The last one...Wouldn't it have burned Jon Snow for killing its master? Instead it flew away with the evidence of the queen's murder. There’s no doubt about it, Snow's a Targaryen.”

“Drogon also burned the iron throne,” someone said.

Actually, it was Tyrion himself who had spoken, to everyone’s surprise - including his own.

“You are not here to speak!” Grey Worm shouted at him, his frustration finally showing.

“Daenerys Targaryen was queen of Westeros, let her people  _ from _ Westeros decide what they want for themselves!” the dwarf talked back, estimating that there was nothing to lose now, not with the Unsullied ready to slaughter them all.

All these wars, all the petty squirmishes and backstabbing, all his well planned moves for this game of thrones, and there was no more throne to win or die for. The throne had been burned.

“The wheel is broken,” the dwarf whispered, drawing a warning glare from Grey Worm.

Undeterred, Tyrion took a step forward toward his audience.

“The wheel is broken!” he said more loudly, and cleared his throat when people gave him puzzled looks. “Daenerys Targaryen wanted to break the wheel of oppression started by her own ancestors. Having an absolute monarch deciding for people he did not care about was the downfall of Westeros. We must find another way to do better by the people. You, my lords and ladies, are the leaders of Westeros now. Just as your ancestors were before the Targaryen conquered the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men.”

“Are you suggesting that we return to having a king in each kingdom of Westeros?” the Martell boy asked after a moment of stunned silence. “That’s fine by Dorne.”

“The North will gladly reclaim its crown, once our king is returned to us,” Sansa commented tightly.

“I doubt that the North would accept a Targaryen traitor,” Lord Royce objected, though his gaze on Lady Stark was soft.

“You should be the Queen in the North, cousin,” Robin Arryn recommended. “You have the right claim.”

Tyrion watched Sansa turn her wide eyes to her younger siblings. Bran did not react - he’d been staring ahead all this time - and Arya frowned and pursed her lips but eventually shrugged.

“If Westeros is back to being ruled by seven kings and queens, who will decide the fate of Jon Snow and Tyrion Lannister?” Yara Greyjoy, already a queen, questioned.

“You should all decide  _ together _ ,” Tyrion said with a much confidence as he could muster. “For the good of the realm. The decision with the highest vote will be carried out.”

“You are surrounded by our army,” Grey Worm reminded everyone, dampening the joy of those whose status had just been elevated to the highest rank possible. “You will agree on a decision that will  _ satisfy us _ .”

The lords and ladies looked at each other and around them, nervously eyeing the spears around the tent.

Only Sansa Stark, who had finally retaken her seat, was not paying attention to the most resilient soldiers in the world.

She was staring at Tyrion, anger and sorrow waging in her clear blue eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Lannister mouthed, shaking his head apologetically at his sister’s former hostage.  
  


* * *

 

Back to the Wall.

After heartfelt goodbyes to his siblings - cousins - Jon had waited for the two rangers to secure a passage from King’s Landing to White Harbor.

Jon had been surprised that the Night’s Watch still existed, but he shouldn’t have had.

With so many people dead because of the war, Sansa and the Northern Lords had been unwilling to sentence criminals to death. The wall was currently manned by the Free Folk, but Sansa - who was now Queen in the North - planned on restoring it.

She had not said anything, but Jon guessed that she hoped that he would lead it again eventually.

Palyn and Hogar - Alliser Thorn’s former lackeys - escorted him to the small ship, and on the way Jon saw one of Daenerys’ ships, Grey Worm looking down on him from its deck.

When he’d surrendered himself to the Unsullied, Jon had hoped to have his throat slit on the spot. The lack of evidence of his crime had slowed Grey Worm’s hands, and Daenerys Bloodriders had demanded proof that their Khalessi had truly died, not just left atop Drogon the way she had done before.

The Dothraki themselves were boarding ships to return to their Great Grass Sea.

Jon could not remember the name of the three bloodriders he’d had to kill to insure that the rest would obey the rulers of Westeros and return to their native land on the other side of the Narrow Sea. 

He did remember Arya’s proud smile when he sheathed Longclaw, and Sam’s sad eyes as he treated his wounds afterwards.

The ship he boarded several hours after Daenerys’ people left was smaller than he anticipated, given her name  _ Winter Wind _ , but much cleaner than any freight ship had any right to be.

It was not until he saw a unique wheelchair on deck that Jon suspected that something was amiss.

“Bran?!” he exclaimed, glancing back at the two brothers in black.

“Thank you, Hogar and Palyn,” the authoritative yet soothing voice of Sansa called from the forecastle deck.

The two men bowed slightly before joining the rest of the crew preparing to sail.

Jon stood there, aware that his mouth was agape, staring at Sansa and Arya grinning at him before the latter threw herself at him.

“You didn’t really think that we’d let you rot at Castle Black, did you?” his youngest sister - cousin - asked, clearly knowing that yes, Jon had believed that they would honor their agreement with the other rulers of Westeros.

“We promised?” he tried to say, but was still to shocked by the turn of events to form a coherent sentence.

“As we speak, Lord Tyrion is headed for Casterly Rock, eager to crown himself king of the Westerlands,” Sansa informed him. “If these Essosi thought that we would heed their demands, they’re sorely mistaken.”

“What if they hear about it?” the fake bastard questioned as he ruffled Arya’s hair before she ran off to parts of the ship she had no place being seen.

“What can they do now that they’ve left King’s Landing?” Sansa asked back. “They could possibly siege Casterly Rock, but even the most disciplined soldiers in the world wouldn’t be able to withstand the northern climate out in the open. Two hundred of them died of lung freeze before the army of the dead reached Winterfell.”

Someone announced their departure, the message echoed across the ship, and Jon stared as the former capital of westeros, reduced to ashes, decreased in size.

“We’ll make it back home with enough time to organize my coronation before the army returns on the King’s road,” Sansa told him as she left his side to push Bran’s chair.

“We won’t,” their younger brother countered, to both Jon and Sansa’s shock.

“What?” the Queen in the North exclaimed softly. “Why do you say that, Bran?”

“We will stop at Skagos,” the cripple informed them. “It’s not over yet.”

“What’s not over yet?” Jon questioned, but when he walked around Sansa to face Bran, he saw that the young Stark man had his eyes already rolled over.

Jon stared at Sansa, who sighed before shrugging.

“He’ll tell us more later,” she declared as she resumed pushing the chair. “We’ll be fine. The pack survives.”

“I’m not a Stark,” Jon reminded her, but Sansa just scoffed as she kept going.

“Don’t be an idiot, Jon,” she simply commented.

The last Targaryen looked back to King’s Landing, its shore still visible from the deck of  _ Winter Wind _ .

Yes, he had been an idiot, a fool in love, and had almost risked his family’s safety with his reckless actions.

He did not deserve a third chance at life, yet here he stood, surrounded by people he loved and who loved him, heading back to where he belonged - with his pack.

He would send a raven to Castle Black from White Arbor, ask Tormund if Ghost was still there. He should have never separated from his direwolf, his only loyal friend since he left Winterfell as a green boy.

A cold breeze blew on the deck, and Jon closed his eyes, enjoying the mild climate of the south. He was certain that he would not be this warm again until summer arrived in Winterfell a few years from now.

The pack survives.

**Author's Note:**

> I just had to get it out of my chest. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
